Lunchtime.

February 8, 2007

The people queue obediently outside of the bakery, patiently waiting to part with cash in exchange for culinary delights. The streets and customers are cold, quiet and calm, in stark contrast to behind the bakery counter; hot, noisy, and stressful. Professional, nevertheless.

The young but pretty blonde behind me gabs on the phone for the duration of the queue; I didn’t notice, but I assume (or, at least, hope) that she had the common decency to halt her stream of phone calls when she reached the front of the line. None of her calls last more than 30 seconds. I wonder if she calls too often?

One lucky friend was apparently the winner of soup and a wee roll. A phone call from a pretty lady and a free lunch. I can think of worse things.

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